Out of the Darkness

Bowing, Kawar said, “Just as you require, sir, so shall it be. By what the Unkerlanters say, Trapani is surrounded, cut off from the outside world, and sure to fall in the next few days. Fighting in the rest of Algarve is dying down as the redheads realize resistance is suicide, and useless suicide at that.”

“And the Algarvian response to this is?”

“Your Excellency, by what the Algarvians put out over the ether, they still think they’ve got the war as good as won-although none of their reports comes from inside Trapani anymore,” Kawar answered. “They say their capital will stay Algarvian. They say Gromheort and the Marquisate of Rivaroli will be Algarvian again, and they say their secret sorceries will smash Swemmel’s savages. That’s what they say, sir.”

By that, Kawar no doubt meant he didn’t believe a word of it. Hajjaj understood such skepticism. He didn’t believe a word of it, either. The Algarvians’ claims reminded him of the last ravings of a man about to die of fever. They had no connection to reality that he could find. He sighed. Mezentio’s men had been Zuwayza’s cobelligerents against Unkerlant-though the redheads, with some reason, would have taken that the other way round.

None of those reflections was anything a crystallomancer needed to hear. Hajjaj said, “Thank you, Kawar. It sounds as though things will be over there before too long.”

Kawar nodded. With another word of thanks, Hajjaj left the crystallomancers’ chamber. What might happen after the fighting finally stopped worried him a good deal. King Swemmel had given Zuwayza relatively lenient terms for getting out of the Derlavaian War-he’d been shrewd enough not to provoke Hajjaj’s kingdom to desperate resistance while the bigger battle with Algarve still blazed. But would he keep the terms of the peace he’d made after he didn’t have to worry about Algarve anymore? Swemmel was not notorious for keeping promises.

That raised the next interesting question: if Swemmel tried to take a firmer grip on Zuwayza, what should-what could-the Zuwayzin do about it? Not much was the answer that immediately occurred to Hajjaj. He didn’t think King Shazli would like it. He didn’t like it himself. But liking it and being able to do anything about it were liable to be two different things.

When he walked back to his own offices, his secretary greeted him with, “And the latest is?”

“About what you’d expect, Qutuz,” Hajjaj replied. “The death throes of Algarve, except the Algarvians refuse to admit they’re any such thing.”

Qutuz grunted. “What will it take, do you suppose? The very last of them dead, and their last house knocked flat?”

“It may take something not far from that,” Hajjaj said sourly. “No one would ever claim the Algarvians are not a stubborn folk.”

“No one would ever claim they’re not a stupid folk, for fighting on when all it does is get more of them killed,” Qutuz said.

“There’s some truth in that, I shouldn’t wonder,” the Zuwayzi foreign minister admitted. “But I think rather more of it comes from a bad conscience. They know what they’ve done in this war. They know what all their neighbors, and especially the Unkerlanters, might to do them once they surrender. Compared to that, dying in battle may not look so bad.”

“Hmm.” Qutuz bowed. “I daresay you’re right, your Excellency. If Swemmel wanted to stick his hooks in me, I might think hard about taking a long walk off the roof of a tall building.”

“Even so,” Hajjaj said. “Aye, even so.”

He sat down on the carpet behind his low desk and got to work. Reestablishing ties to kingdoms that had been Algarve’s foes-and to kingdoms the Algarvians had occupied for years-produced a flood of paperwork. King Beornwulf of Forthweg had just formally accepted the envoy King Shazli had sent to him, and had named a certain Earl Trumwine as Forthwegian minister to Zuwayza. Hajjaj had never heard of Trumwine, and didn’t know anyone who had. What would he be like? The Zuwayzi foreign minister shrugged, thinking, He can’t be worse than Ansovald. King Swemmel’s minister to Zuwayzi set a standard for irksomeness by which all envoys from other kingdoms were judged.

After writing a brief letter of welcome for Trumwine-I’ll see soon enough how big a hypocrite I am-Hajjaj tended to a couple of other matters even more trivial. He was just sanding a memorandum dry when Qutuz came in from his outer office and said, “Excuse me, your Excellency, but an officer from the army high command is here. He’d like to speak with you for a moment.”

“From the army high command?” Hajjaj said in surprise. Since Zuwayza yielded to the Unkerlanters, the army high command hadn’t had a great deal to do. Hajjaj nodded. “Send him in, by all means.”

The officer was a generation younger than Hajjaj. He had a colonel’s emblem on his hat, and also painted on the bare skin of his upper arms. “Good day, your Excellency,” he said. “My name is Mundhir.”